


Perfect Match

by SimplyLucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: 1960s, 1960s fashion, Alternate Universe - 1960s, F/M, Go-go Boots, Jealousy, Light-hearted fic, Looking for Ser Pounce, Mini Dress, No Show, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Sandor drives a very conspicuous car in this fic, Slight Breeze, Tom jones - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, Vacation, What's New Pussycat, Written for Thinkingonaname, Yellow Car, and he loves Tom Jones' songs, summer afternoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: 1965. Bouffant half updo and go-go boots: Sansa pretties herself up for her dinner with Joffrey but when she arrives at the Lannisters', he's already gone...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinkingonaname](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thinkingonaname).



> This fic was written for Thinkingonaname and first posted on tumblr.  
> Here's the list of words she gave me to boost my inspiration: _Sixties, yellow, hot summer’s day afternoon, vacation, slight breeze._  
>  The result is a light-hearted one-shot I hope you'll enjoy. Comments are welcome!

****Her reflexion in the mirror of the dressing table was satisfying enough. Sansa smiled at the teenage girl whose bouffant half updo caught the light whenever she turned her head; her lungs might be filled with hairspray by now but Joffrey’s mouth would dangle open when he’d see her. Happy with herself, she almost slapped her knees and got on her feet.

The outfit she had chosen was nice too - her little sister Arya would have said it was ‘boss’. Swiveling on the heels of her go-go boots to face the full-length mirror, she smoothed the skirt of her sleeveless minidress. After seeing some model wearing a mustard minidress with a white collar in a magazine, she had become obsessed with it and she had sewn a similar dress for herself. Surprisingly enough, mustard yellow suited her skin tone. Its bold color would draw people’s attention - even if Joffrey’s interest was the only one she was seeking.

One last look at her make-up - that black winged eyeliner wasn’t easy to master but she was quite pleased with the result - and she was good to go. It was already late and she didn’t want to make Joffrey wait even if he was on vacation. He had made a scene the last time she had been late. He had also made a scene when she had contradicted him in front of his friends and when she had not showed as much interest as he expected about his new Italian shoes. Joffrey made scenes and if she could avoid another one by not being late…

Sansa opened the front door and stayed on the threshold for one second, dreading the scorching heat. The Baratheons’ house was not so far, after all, or so did she convince herself…

She walked with a determined stride, soon ruing her decision to wear go-go boots on a hot summer day. Her thoughts turned to her date with Joff: she hoped it would be nicer than the previous one. Maybe he’d make amends. Maybe he’d compliment her. Then doubts began to creep in: what if he behaved like the complete asshole Arya said he was? She pouted - a convincing imitation of Brigitte Bardot for the passers-by, but unlike the French actress she wasn’t trying to seduce anyone _. Joffrey wouldn’t disappoint me again, would he?_

For their last date, Joffrey had taken her to a club which was supposedly the best in town. Her former should have been thrilled to spend the night in such a fashionable place; it was nonetheless the worst possible choice. The Green Lounge was Margaery Tyrell’s HQ and soon enough, Sansa had realized what Joffrey had promised to be a romantic dinner would be a night with Margaery’s friends in a crowded club. Sansa had a rather clear idea of what might happen between Margaery and Joffrey sooner or later: her boyfriend obviously enjoyed the brown-haired girl’s company. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to bury the thought away.

Across the street, wrought iron gates separated the Baratheons’ house from the rest of the world; she took a sharp inhale of breath, crossed the street and pushed the gates open. Once under the porch, she considered the knocker in the shape of a lion’s head - Cersei’s touch, without a doubt - then she knocked. Sansa waited. _‘The house is big,’_ Cersei Lannister used to say. Inside, someone was running down the hall, not very fast, and when the front door finally opened, a boy of eleven gave Sansa his best smile.

“Hi Tommen! How are you doing? Can you tell Joff I’m here?”

Tommen took in her pretty dress and her elaborate make-up; his smile vanished and he ran his hand through his blond curls. “I’m sorry… My brother’s not here.”

_Not here?_

“He said- He said he was going to the Green Lounge. I’m sorry, Sansa.” There was something apologetic in the boy’s tone, as he understood what was going on. It was easy to get that Sansa was ready for a date Joffrey had conveniently forgotten about. _So he’s with Margaery instead of having dinner with me._

“Come in,” Tommen went on, visibly eager to make it up to her for his brother’s uncouthness.

Her legs moved of their own accord as she followed Tommen inside the house then to the garden at the rear of the building. On the elegant wrought iron table, she spotted a pitcher of homemade lemonade and a half-empty glass. Tommen told her to sit down and said he’d be back with a glass for her and cookies. She didn’t dare refuse his invitation: Tommen had always been friendly with her.

The sun was slowly going down and she could now feel a slight breeze. She swept the garden with its impeccable box trees and gravel road; further on the left, higher trees provided some welcome shade. On the right side, she could see the garage sheltering the Baratheons’ cars. She heard the foggy, crackling sound of an old radio somewhere inside the garage; no one was visible though.

Tommen came back with a glass for her and a plateful of cookies. After some small talk, Tommen had eaten most of the cookies and Sansa thought of walking back home. What would she tell her sister? _‘You were right and Joffrey’s a prick’_ ? _‘I told you I was going to have dinner with Joff but I ended up drinking lemonade with his little brother’_? Sighing, she gazed at the condensation on her glass of lemonade.

“Have you seen Ser Pounce?” Tommen suddenly asked. “He was there with me before you arrived.”

Sansa suppressed a smile and shook her head. At eleven, Tommen still prefered his cats’ company to that of the girls.

“Let’s go find him before he does something stupid in the garden,” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

His guest had no other choice than to follow him. Sansa reluctantly pushed herself from her chair, then she let the boy run through the garden and slowly wandered between the box trees. Now that she was closer to the garage, she was able to hear the radio: it played an old tune she didn’t recognize.

“I’ll check the garage!” she informed Tommen, before walking to the garage entrance.

The sun was so bright outside it took her eyes a second or two to adjust themselves to the rather dim light of the garage. At first, she only saw three cars, one disappearing under a canvas cover, one red and one yellow with the hood open…

“What’s new pussycat?” someone croaked on her right. The voice came from the floor or so it seemed. Sansa turned her head, took a step back and spotted a form lying under the yellow car. _Sandor Clegane, again._ If he thought his imitation of Tom Jones was believable or funny, he was wide of the mark.

“Don’t ‘pussycat’ me!” was all she managed to reply. She couldn’t help imagining what he had seen when she had walked in the garage, from his hiding place under the car: her white boots and her long legs, then the hem of her yellow dress, far above her knees. _Damn it._

Whatever Sandor Clegane had to do under his car was fixed: with a grunt he got on his feet and he looked her up and down, while dusting his clothes. “What are you doing here?”

Sansa folded her arms about her chest. “Ser Pounce disappeared and we were looking for him, Tommen and I.”

It was the funniest thing Sandor Clegane had heard in a while, for he burst out laughing. The hood closed with a thud, revealing the bright yellow paint and the black stripes on it. Sansa had labelled the car ‘tasteless’ the first time she had seen it. The fact it was a Ford Mustang didn’t change anything: one had to be crazy to buy a yellow and black car. The last straw was the silhouette of three black dogs painted on the trunk. She wondered if the black dogs came from the owner’s nickname: the Hound.

“You came here to see Joffrey, right?” he said. It was not a question. “Then Tommen invited you to come in.”

A defeated look on her face, she nodded.

“You’re lucky, little bird, it could have been worse. He could have forced you to watch _The Twilight Zone_ with him.”

It was her turn to chuckle this time. She was ready to leave the garage when he asked: “What are you going to do? Walk home and cry yourself to sleep because Joffrey stood you up? Prepare your revenge?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just-”

Sandor motioned his head towards his car. “Why don’t you come with me for a ride?”

“What makes you think I want to get inside your car?” she retorted. Most of the time, he repaid her polite tone and her thanks with rudeness. _Tit for tat,_ she thought.

The man closed the distance between them. She could now see his gray eyes and the burns on his face. “Well, first, a pretty little thing like you shouldn’t cry over Joffrey. And… Look at your dress. It’s the same bloody color as my ride! Quite the perfect match!”

She scoffed, yet she didn’t move when he inched closer. Yes, it was true her dress matched the color of his Ford Mustang. _Why didn’t I see that when I bought the fabric?_ Suddenly the yellow car didn’t seem as garish as before. “Where are you going?” she inquired, trying to sound confident, despite the butterflies in her belly. She craned her neck to look him in the eye.

Her question was met with a shrug. “The fuck if I know. The beach, maybe. If you’re a good girl maybe I’ll let you drive my car,” he trailed off, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. Was it some innuendo? The Hound never missed a chance to make her blush. “What do you say, little bird?” he added.

The prospect seemed daunting: drive to the beach in Sandor Clegane’s car and spend part of the evening with him. For a second, she imagined Joffrey drinking martinis with Margaery at _The Green Lounge_ … “Why not?” she answered cheerfully.

Unlike Joffrey, Sandor Clegane wasn’t the kind of man who held doors for ladies. Keeping that in mind, she walked to the car and opened the door herself; Sandor didn’t move an inch and he stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. It was only when Sansa was seated that he ran to the car and got inside. The engine roared and they left the garage without exchanging a word, each one being too excited about this ride to voice their thoughts. The Ford moved past a dumbfounded Tommen holding Ser Pounce in his arms, briefly stopped by the gates and took the road going the beach.

“I can’t figure out how Joffrey manages to drive with you by his side?” he suddenly rasped.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Another nasty remark, maybe? He had been rather nice before, far too nice by his standards... She waited, ready to snap back if he became insulting.

“Joffrey never had a car accident while driving with you by his side, which is… impressive,” he explained, a smile playing about his lips. “These legs of yours are a fucking distraction, little bird.” With that, he gave her a sidelong look.

Sansa’s eyes rolled skywards. “Keep your eyes on the road. Please.”

As the Ford Mustang sped down the road, she once more imagined Joffrey and Margaery at _The Green Lounge_ . This time, it made her smile. _Poor Marge_ , she thought.  



End file.
